


Heart Skipped A Beat

by melatonintea



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Again I suck at tags, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, John Watson fixes things, Lovers, M/M, Mention of Sherlock's Mother, Panic Attacks, Upset Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 09:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melatonintea/pseuds/melatonintea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's mother doesn't approve of his relationship with John. This, unfortunately, has a deep impact on Sherlock. Thankfully, John is there to make him feel better. </p>
<p>God, I suck at summaries. It's much better than the summary, I promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart Skipped A Beat

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and thank you for reading this! Lovely comments and kudos are always welcome and greatly appreciated!
> 
> Credit also to the lovely person who provided me with bits of this, whose name was never caught. If you're, by some odd luck, reading this, then thank you!
> 
> <3

John? -SH

Yes, Sherlock? -JW

Come home. -SH

What the hell is going on? -JW

I'm lonely, John. -SH

Well, alright. I was just picking up some groceries. I'll be home in a few minutes. Thought maybe a bomb went off or something. -JW

Of course not. I just want you home. -SH

I'll be there soon enough. You're sure you're alright? -JW

Yes, I'll be fine. -SH

...I think. -SH

What's happened? -JW

Family has happened, John. -SH

Do you want to talk about it? -JW

When you're home. -SH

Okay. I'll be there very soon. I'm on Baker Street. -JW

Okay. I'm in the bedroom. -SH

 

John pocketed his phone and hurried up the steps to the flat. "Family." That was all Sherlock had said. Now, that sounded rather ominous. He hoped that Mycroft hadn't done something-the man could be a downright bastard sometimes, but he was undeniably an ally. Once in the flat, John dropped his phone and jacket on the table, making his way quickly to their bedroom. He knocked. He didn't need to say anything, Sherlock would already know who it was.

"Come in," Sherlock said softly, and John opened the door slowly. Sherlock was still dressed in his pyjamas, wrapped up in his bed sheet, and curled up in a tight ball on the bed. He looked like an upset child. He didn't even lift his head when John walked in.

"Oh Sherlock," John said when he saw him. Sherlock looked truly miserable, which was unusual for him. If he was ever upset, he would take it out on something or someone else, or more commonly, he would experiment for days on end. But this never happened. John looked at him with a concerned expression. And Sherlock didn't speak a word. He just curled up tighter knowing that his loving John was there. His eyes were heavy, and looked as if he'd wanted to cry, but he held it in. Even though they'd been together for awhile, and John was very understanding, Sherlock still would never cry in front of him.

John sat on the bed next to Sherlock, back against the wall. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked yet again. Whatever it was, it had to have been immensely important, from the way Sherlock's muscles contracted and the way he was folded in on himself. He never reacted this way.

"My mother.. She found out about us.." Sherlock said, almost to himself and barely audible. After he said it, he half regretted it, knowing John had heard.

"And?" John said, already knowing what the outcome had been. Obviously it wasn't a good one.

"She practically disowned me, John," Sherlock whispered, moving closer to his doctor.

"Then she doesn't deserve you, 'Lock," he said. John let the other move closer to him, but he didn't reach out, just in case he did not want to be touched, which was a possibility. 

Sherlock shuddered, obviously trying to restrain from crying. He moved even closer, laying his head in John's lap. He had an unusual desire for affection and comfort. John sighed, and began to run his fingers through Sherlock's hair in long and steady strokes. He wished that it didn't matter, but obviously it was a big deal to Sherlock. He was evidently very close to his mother, and her opinions had an impact on him. John felt slightly guilty. She didn't approve of him, and it was making Sherlock feel terrible.

"I-I shouldn't care.. I-I.." And with that, Sherlock turned over so that he was facing John, buried his head in John's shirt, clutched onto his pants, and began to shake, unable to get any more words out of his mouth. 

"Shh, It's alright," John said soothingly, gathering Sherlock up in his arms and holding him close as he began to cry. "It shouldn't matter, but it does. And that's okay. I'm so sorry, love."

Sherlock knew he shouldn't be crying, but he also knew that with John, it was okay. Curling up, he began to sob, against his own wishes. He wanted to speak. He wanted to apologize for being this way. But he couldn't open his mouth.

"It's alright," John kept repeating, but he wished that it was true. "It's not your fault." He cradled Sherlock to his chest and let him cry. It wasn't as if he could stop him, anyway.

"B-but I love you..." Sherlock wished desperately that he could stop this crying, as he was embarrassed beyond belief, but he just cried harder.

"And I love you too and everything will be okay," John whispered softly, holding him closer as he sobbed. Something twisted inside John at the sight of Sherlock's sobs. They were uncontrollable and it was nothing like anything he'd ever seen before, and it was terrifying and miserable and painful and there was nothing he could do to stop them. He rocked Sherlock, and kissed him, and murmured stupid useless things, and knew this was an enemy he could never fight--if Sherlock cared so intensely about his mother's approval, then he'd only hate John for hurting her. And John didn't know if he could hurt someone who had given him Sherlock. It seemed like a terribly ungrateful thing to do. And still Sherlock sobbed, and still John held him.

Sherlock honestly couldn't see what was so wrong in loving someone, even someone of the same gender. He loved his mother, yes, but that was nothing compared to the way he loved John.

"Sherlock?” said John tentatively. He was beginning to be more than pained; he was beginning to worry. Sherlock crying was unheard of, Sherlock sobbing was terrifying but understandable; but Sherlock going on for so long, so uncontrollably—it was worse than anything he’d thought of before. He clutched Sherlock’s shirt and hauled him upright, the better to see his face. One arm still supporting Sherlock, he cupped his tearstained face with the other. “I love you,” he said, helplessly. There was nothing else he could say.

Sherlock sniffed and tried to force out a fake smile. "I know," was all that he could bare to choke out. He was breathless, his stomach hurt, his face was red and tear stained, and he could barely speak.

That smile was almost worse than the rest of it. "Don't," John said, "You don't have to pretend it's fine, I know it's not."

 "I'm sorry, John.." he stammered. "I-I shouldn't have told y-you. I should have kept to myself." Sherlock retreated back into the curled up position on John's lap.

"No," he said immediately, "Never keep anything inside, okay? I want to hear everything. I care more than you can understand. I will always listen. If someone's hurting you, I want to know, okay? I will never be angry. And I will always be here. I am here. Okay?"

 "Okay.. Okay.." Sherlock breathed. He searched for John's hand, and once he found it, he locked their fingers and held their hands to his chest, trying desperately to steady his breathing. John could feel Sherlock's heart pounding away with the speed of a freight train beneath his fingers. "Just breathe," he said, slowly, calmly, trying to instill some of that into Sherlock. Panic attack? He hoped not. "Breathe, love. Concentrate on it. In and out. You're doing just fine."

 Sherlock turned his attention to his increasing heart rate. Noticing how fast it was, he began to panic. He started to breathe quicker and shake again underneath John's embrace. He hated panic attacks.

"Sherlock--" _Oh no, not again._ It was all he had time to think of before panic was on Sherlock with a vengeance. He forced himself to breathe slowly. He took Sherlock's hand and put it over his own heart. He hoped it would help. "Sherlock. Can you hear me? I need you to talk to me, okay?"

 "I...I-I..." Sherlock breathed out. His vision started to blur and he shut his eyes tight, as well as tightening his grip on John's hand.

 “Sherlock…” he tried, but he knew it was useless. Once Sherlock was in the grips of a panic attack, all John could do was hold him and wait for it to be over. And so he did, murmuring to Sherlock all the while. “I love you, darling, please come back, it’s going to be all right, you’re going to be fine, we are, we’re going to be happy and stupid and run like idiots through London together, and it’s going to be good again, and I love you, you know that, right? Because I do. I love you and it’s going to be all right…”

Sherlock made small whimpers from his throat during his thoughtless state. He could hear John's soothing voice. He couldn't make out the words, but held onto the voice. He was beginning to grow dizzy. John continued talking, mostly senselessly. He wondered if perhaps he should call for an ambulance, but then he figured that they probably wouldn't allow an anesthetic, and perhaps that wouldn't even help, except to put Sherlock to sleep for a while and then have him panic more when he woke. Sherlock couldn't calm himself. He couldn't think straight. He tensed himself up so much that it physically pained him. 

John waited.

Minutes that felt like hours went by. Sherlock made no difference.

Finally after what felt like an eternity, he felt Sherlock's heart rate slow. It was still a little bit above average, but not nearly as bad as it had been before. "Sherlock?" he finally ventured to say, loudly and clearly, much unlike his usual soft murmur. Sherlock made a noise in some kind of response. He was not completely back yet. His head still spun. John gave a sigh of relief. "Sherlock, can you hear me?" The worst was over.  

"Mhm.." he mumbled. His body relieved a bit of tension. He was still shaking and couldn't open his eyes. His free hand searched for John.

He saw Sherlock's groping hand and caught it and held it to his lips. Sherlock sighed, steadying out his breathing. He slowly opened his eyes. He looked up at John and his heart sunk; he looked so worried. Sherlock took a deep breath. "I-I'm sorry. How long was I like this for?" He managed to quietly whisper. 

"A while," murmured John, trying not to look as concerned as he felt. He smoothed Sherlock's hair back; it was damp with sweat. "How do you feel?"

He bowed his head, almost as if in shame. "Sick," he managed to whisper.

"Like you need to throw up, or like you're exhausted?" He certainly appeared exhausted. After all that shaking, John would believe it.

 "Like...both..I-I think.." Sherlock stammered, clutching onto John again. 

 John took one look at him and realized it was true. "Here," he said, shifting out from underneath, standing, and then hefting Sherlock up too, supporting him heavily, "we better get you to the bathroom." Sherlock nodded, and moaned when he was pulled up. He realized just how absolutely terrible he felt. John dragged Sherlock carefully but quickly to the bathroom, just in time for Sherlock to nearly collapse on the floor, throwing up the miniscule contents of his stomach into the bathtub. John dropped to his knees next to him, rubbing his back soothingly. When Sherlock was sure he was done, he leaned fully onto John. "Let's get to bed, yeah?" Sherlock nodded in agreement.

 He pulled Sherlock up, wrapping his arms around the other's waist, and leading him back to their bedroom. Sherlock changed into different pyjamas, and settled into bed. John cleaned up the bathroom, and changed himself before settling into bed next to Sherlock.

 Sherlock moved closer and leaned his head on John's shoulder. "I'm sorry about tonight," he whispered.

 "Don't say that. It's not your fault. Besides, I'm glad that you told me and let your feelings out. I know that's not easy for you, love." John paused. "Anyway, how did your mother find out?"

 Sherlock thought before letting out a sigh. "Oh John, the British Government doesn't keep secrets," he said. 

 And with that, they both smiled and tangled in one another in a much needed, meaningful embrace. It had been a long night.


End file.
